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My friends and I started a campaign of Dungeons and Dragons this past Saturday. Dungeons and Dragons is like a live-action Choose Your Own Adventure Book. The Dungeon Master (in our case, Lanny,), sets up an adventure for the group (or ka-tet, as I so lovingly ripped off of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series) and presides over it as a sort of indifferent God. He narrates the action, gives us our options, lets us know of the consequences of our actions. There are also some dice involved, but now we’re getting into a sort of Wikipedia level of information depth and I’d rather just move along.

Each player has a character that they invent themselves. Last night, we had a mermaid, an orc, a monk that “Investigates the mysteries of the human body through his fists,” a magical seductress, and a bard.

Below is the bio I wrote up for my character, a ranger named MacGregor Eddie Mercury.

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Born inside a hole in the dirt, MacGregor Eddie Mercury, or “Mr. Mercury” is a hunter and warrior and performer of the lethal arts. He also will also occasionally bust out a ribbon dance on you. Mac was the spawn of a boar hunter known only as “Locke.” He never met his father. Some say he died in a shipwreck in the great Orc War. Others say he just got boared. Either way, MacGregor was raised by Butterlips Hogan, a surly dairy farmer.

One dark night after playing King of the Castle (a game where you eat bugs while smacking cows on the rear and yelling “More cream in my coffee, you heifer!”), a band of dark cloaked raiders called The Oakland Raiders, ripped through the tiny farm, slaying Butterlips Hogan in the process.

“Oh gosh, we’re really sorry,” one of them said as they rode off with a cow in his satchel.

So these are the words that echoed in Mercury’s ears as his world fell apart. And they are the words that he promised himself he would whisper into the ears of the men he killed in his path to purge Areola of evil.

It was there, in that dew-wet field, lit only by the burning farm, that Butterlips told MacGregor the hard truth of his origins.

“I am your father,” he said.

“But I thought Locke was my father.”

“He is too. We. We. We are your two gay dads.”

MacGregor looked out into the distance.

“But so both of you were gay? Not like one of you was gay and the other was just looking for a nice place to store his d—”

And then the old dairy farmer let out a howl that pushed the birds from the trees and sent the cows bawling long into the night. He was dead.

Now MacGregor Eddie Mercury carries a knife made from the femur of his fallen, less cool gay dad. Through his travels, he visited a traveling circus. In the circus was a monkey that the local strongmen would pay a pence to wrestle and measure their strength against. The ape never lost a match.

MacGregor thought this was downright wrong, because of his liberal, two gay dad upbringing, and liberated the ape.

He now loves that ape more than anything in the whole world. He has lots of loveless sex and sings all the time, especially when he is thirsty for battle, because in the forest, a singing man is sure to draw attention to himself. His favorite anthem of bloodletting is:

Bring out the charge of the love brigade
There is spring in the air once again
Drink to the sound of the song parade
There is music and love ev’rywhere
Give a little love to me
Take a lotta love from me
I want to share it with you